Page 26 of Selfish Desires

I nodded slowly, taking a deep breath as I closed my fingers around the icy glass. The cold seeped into my skin and penetrated my arm, chilling the chaos within. “Am I? Is that what tonight’s going to be?”

“Well, you’re going to find out a lot.” Marissa leaned against the table, our shoulders bumping. “Why don’t you go home and rest. You might need it.” She raised a wicked eyebrow, sending a shiver down my spine.

“We’re just going to talk. Plus, the idea of being home right now sounds awful. I need to keep myself busy.” My clammy fingers twisted, threatening to cut the circulation from the red digits.

“Right. Just talk.” Marissa popped her brow.

“Yes. Just talk.” I dropped my chin, glaring at her. “Don’t do that, Marissa. My mind has never felt this fucked up before.” I pressed my fingertips into my closed lids as if trying to push Marissa’s hint from my mind.

“I don’t know. You showed me a picture of Vincent; a man like that isn’t just made to talk to.” Marissa crossed her arms, gnawing on her bottom lip to fight off a teasing smile.

“Yeah, well, the last time I fell for his looks, he disappeared, remember?” I retorted. My voice turned bitter at the memory; the days following his departure were undoubtedly the worst of my life.

“You didn’t just fall for his looks, Wendy. You were in love with him. It’s okay to say it out loud.”

“Yeah, well. Look where love got me?” I scooted off the table, ready to cook something, anything if it meant abandoning this all too raw conversation.

“Hear him out, Wendy.” Marissa’s voice echoed from behind.

“Isn’t that why I’m doing this?” I threw my arms up before they came crashing down to my side.

“Whatever you decide to do after you hear him out, I fully support you.”

I spun around, facing Marissa, who sat nonchalantly on my prep table.

“What’s that’s supposed to mean?”

Marissa hopped off the table, scooting past me. “You’ll soon find out.”

The Pelican House was Newport's most expensive, glamorous, and exclusive hotel, overlooking the Atlantic Ocean, where the sun sparkles like millions of gold coins across the vast sea. I stepped out of my car, lost in the magnificence of the building. Vincent was going to be inside there, waiting. My heart pounded like a wild drum against my ribs as I looked up at the towering structure.

I walked past the massive bronze doors and into the grand lobby, all marble and crystal. Everywhere I looked, there was opulence dripping down from high ceilings and gilded furniture; money literally studded every corner of this establishment. A queen would have felt comfortable here, but I felt like the interloper as I moved deeper into the grandeur.

“May I help you, miss?” A young, well-groomed man stood behind a gleaming counter.

“Yes,” I answered, resting my fingertips on the cool marble desk. “I was told a key for room 201 would be here?”

The concierge clicked away on the keyboard, his eyes glued to the razor-thin computer monitor. “What name is the room under? And your I.D., please?”

About an hour before I arrived, Vincent sent me the details of his room, and here I was, retrieving a copy of the key. “The room is under the last name, Press.” I slid my driver’s license to the man.

The concierge picked up my license, eyeing the details carefully before looking back at his screen. He paused before he nodded and disappeared into a back room. When he reemerged, he held out a small plastic key card, grinning. “Room 201.”

I took the card, nodded my thanks, and turned away from the desk. My heels echoed ominously on the marble floor as I approached the intimidating double staircase. Making my way up, my heart thudded in my throat. The plush red carpeting muffled my footsteps as I climbed, each step taking me closer to Vincent. The hallway echoed the grandeur of the hotel lobby, with tall chandeliers casting their soft light down onto the marbled floor and ornate paintings adorning the walls. The scent of fresh flowers lingered in the air, mingling with a faint aroma of polished wood and expensive perfume. Room 201 was at the end of the long corridor, its rich mahogany door standing tall and imposing.

My mind raced with doubts and questions—was this really what I wanted? Was facing Vincent again worth risking my heart? But somewhere in the depths of my soul, a desire to have closure, to finally move forward from that painful chapter of my life, spurred me on.

I slid the card into the slot; there was a soft click, and then slowly pushed open the heavy door. The room was bathed in soft golden light from the outdoor lights. A massive bed dominated one side of the room, its opulence only rivaled by the stunning view of the Atlantic Ocean from a wide window. But what caught my breath was him—Vincent stood by that window, his back to me.

Seeing him caused a rush of emotions—anger, love, confusion—all at once. He turned toward me then; his face was slightly older now, lines etched around his eyes and mouth. Yet there was a softness there, too—an undeniable vulnerability that drew me in despite all my reservations.

“Wendy,” he breathed, his voice filled with surprise and relief. His eyes held mine in an intense gaze, years of unspoken words and emotions swirling between us.

The door slid shut behind me, leaving us standing there, the echoes of the past and the uncertainty of the future surrounding us in the quiet room. It was then I realized that whatever happened next could change everything.

“Is it okay if I sit down?” I cleared my throat. “My feet are killing me.”

“Of course.” Vincent took one step closer but stopped just as quickly. “Make yourself comfortable.” He gestured to a chair.

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